


Metronome

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Show By Rock!! - All Media Types
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, F/F, First Kiss, Fluff, No Plot/Plotless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-08-08 03:51:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7742251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It’s nice, Cyan decides, pleasant to have the dark of the room weighting around them like the soft of a blanket, and more pleasant to have Retoree pressed so close next to her that their elbows bump when either moves, that Cyan’s fingers catch against Retoree’s wrist as she shifts her position in sideways." Retoree's room is dark but there's illumination enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Metronome

It’s dark in Retoree’s room. There’s never any lights on that Cyan has seen, except for the blueish glow from the always-on computer screen that usually has some sequence of videos playing in the background; the dim lighting is always a little startling at first, always leaves Cyan blinking and feeling a little bit like she’s gone blind while Retoree shifts to get them both arranged with no sign of discomfort at the minimal illumination. But there’s the screen to look at, and the low hum of the speakers to listen to, and by the time Retoree is offering Cyan a box of pocky Cyan accepts before realizing that her eyes have adjusted enough to let her clearly read the label on the side of the container. It’s nice, she decides, pleasant to have the dark of the room weighting around them like the soft of a blanket, and more pleasant to have Retoree pressed so close next to her that their elbows bump when either moves, that Cyan’s fingers catch against Retoree’s wrist as she shifts her position in sideways.

“Sorry,” she says, but “It’s fine,” Retoree tells her, her voice catching in the back of her throat but sincere all the same. When Cyan looks at the other girl Retoree is staring at the television screen with absolute attention, her mouth set into so much focus she’s nearly frowning, but she doesn’t pull away, and after a moment Cyan looks back to watch the video without shifting her hand away. The moment hangs taut between them for a heartbeat; and then Retoree sighs an exhale, sounding nearly resigned, and leans in sideways to tip against the support of Cyan’s shoulder. Retoree’s shoulder digs in hard against Cyan’s arm, the angle of her body uncomfortable for a moment; but Retoree moves before Cyan can, wiggling a little farther to the side so she can fit better against the other girl and let her head fall against the support of Cyan’s shoulder. Cyan tenses for a moment, self-consciousness locking tight along the length of her spine; but then Retoree makes a faint sound against her shirt, a mumble of “You smell good” as shy as the shift of her hand, and Cyan’s shoulders ease as she smiles helplessly at the bright of the screen in front of them.

They stay like that for a while. Cyan isn’t sure how long; the videos are set to autoplay, so Retoree doesn’t need to move even when they get to the end of one of the recordings, and Cyan doesn’t want to move and disrupt the fragile peace of the darkened room and the warmth of Retoree leaning against her. She wonders for a while if Retoree has fallen asleep, if the dark of the room and the low purr from the speakers has lulled her into a doze; but then the other girl shifts, her fingers sliding against the edge of Cyan’s wrist, and Cyan catches a breath of awareness just as Retoree’s fingers catch and curl around her own. The hold is unsteady, Retoree’s grip awkward around just two of Cyan’s fingers instead of all of them, but Cyan lets them stay like they are for a moment, waits until Retoree’s relaxing back against her shoulder before she shifts her hand to open her fingers wider and slide them to interlace with the other girl’s. Retoree takes a startled breath against her shoulder, her inhale catching to shock at the back of her throat, but Cyan doesn’t pull her hand away, and Retoree doesn’t move, even if the relaxed calm is entirely gone, now, from her shoulders. She’s tense against Cyan’s side, like she’s fighting for the appearance of calm and only barely managing even the outline of it; but then Cyan is breathing harder too, she can feel her heart pounding an adrenaline-fueled rhythm in her chest like it’s trying to form out the pattern of a new song she’s never heard before but almost imagines she can recognize.

The video flickers on the screen, the playthrough finally cutting off to the gentle dark of possibility created by the end of the playlist. Retoree keeps staring at the blank screen; after a moment Cyan turns her head, carefully, just enough to see Retoree in profile with the faint grey of the illumination around them. Retoree’s eyes are wide behind the shine of her glasses, her lips barely parted; she’s breathing harder too, Cyan can hear the sound of the other girl’s inhales like a counterpoint to the rhythm of her own heartbeat. Retoree’s fingers tighten against Cyan’s, like she’s responding to the weight of the other’s gaze; her lashes shift, dip over her eyes as she swallows hard like she’s bracing herself. Cyan shifts her thumb, carefully, just by an inch, just to press delicate friction against the back of Retoree’s hand, and Retoree shudders, her eyes closing for a moment as her whole body trembles like she’s been shocked. Cyan can feel the motion run down her spine, flickering heat under her skin that settles into the weight of certainty in the back of her mind, and then she licks her lips, and takes a breath, and says “Retoree” in a soft voice that still sounds loud against the taut quiet of the room.

Retoree responds at once. She lifts her head from Cyan’s shoulder and turns to look at the other girl in a rush of immediate reaction; her lips are parted, her eyes wide, her fingers tense. She looks startled, a little bit nervous, her whole expression fixed like she’s waiting for some command, and Cyan can feel the power of that prickle over her skin with electricity she almost imagines she can see against the dark of the room.

Retoree swallows audibly. “Cyan?”

Cyan’s close hand is still tangled with Retoree’s, and she doesn’t try to free her fingers. She reaches out with her other hand instead, stretching over the gap between them to press her touch just against the heavy fall of Retoree’s long hair. Retoree’s eyes go wide, her shoulders tense; but she doesn’t pull away, doesn’t so much as shift as Cyan pushes her hair back over her shoulder to topple down her back instead. Cyan lets her fingers linger where they are, lets her wrist catch and weight against Retoree’s shoulder, and when she starts to lean in Retoree’s lashes flutter and she takes a breath so strained on expectation Cyan can taste the heat of it against her tongue. Retoree’s eyes are shut, her chin barely ducked like she can’t quite stand to lift it; but it doesn’t make a difference, not as close as they are and not with Cyan’s heart pounding a frantic rhythm in her chest. She curls her fingers into Retoree’s hair, tips her head to match the angle of the other girl’s, and when she leans in to press her lips against Retoree’s it’s with her eyes open, so she can see the dim-lit gold of Retoree’s hair so close to her. Retoree makes a sound against Cyan’s mouth, something muffled by the contact and whining far in the back of her throat, and then she turns her head to angle herself closer to Cyan’s mouth, and when Cyan pushes a little harder Retoree’s hand comes up to catch at her hip, the other girl’s fingers rustling against the fabric like a premonition of contact a moment before the heat of her touch comes. Retoree whimpers again, her fingers tightening against Cyan’s; and Cyan slides her fingers against the back of Retoree’s neck, and shuts her eyes, and lets the rhythm of her pulse count the time for them both.


End file.
